Better the Evil You Know
by 90TheGeneral09
Summary: The day after the end of the movie, Heinrich Himmler learns of the assassination of Hitler and Goebbels in Paris at the premiere of "Nation's Pride". He isn't as bothered as most people would expect.
1. Chapter 1- In the News

**Chapter I- In the News**

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**A/N: This story is slightly AU, as Dieter Hellstrom has survived the shootout scene in the tavern. Reporting to the SS headquarters in Berlin the day after the movie's events ended, Hellstrom relays the news to Heinrich Himmler. The Basterds missed a lot of key details- and key people- in their noisy and violent assault on the cinema in Paris. One of them isn't bothered by what happened there at all.**

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Sturmbannführer Dieter Hellstrom strode swiftly down the halls of the vast and imperious SS-Hauptampt building on Prinz-Albrecht-Straße, with a look on his face as solemn as his black boots. His gray service uniform was spotless, as was the briefcase of files and photos in his right hand. Out of the dozens of SS he had passed coming down this hallway, only a few hadn't hurried to get out of Hellstrom's way. Every SS officer believed he was a big deal, and anyone at the rank of Major or above who didn't think himself qualified to be the next Reichsführer clearly had reached the high point in his career. But anyone with some common sense could tell Hellstrom was not a man to be toyed with; while an SS officer on a mission was commonplace on Prinz-Albrecht-Straße, and one with a briefcase only slightly less so, something about Hellstrom's manner said he wasn't to be crossed. Hellstrom walked knowing he quite literally held the fate of the Reich in his hands.

Two immaculately-dressed- and heavily armed- honour guards of the Waffen-SS snapped to attention as Hellstrom approached the door to the Reichsführer's office. Ordinarily, they would have given serious consideration to demanding that so uncommonly young a senior officer show them his ID papers. But something about this man said he was the real deal. He was as cocky and arrogant as any SS officer ever born, but the serious look in his eyes said there was a reason he held that briefcase so tightly. Gravely raising their assault rifles in salute, the guards looked at Hellstrom hopefully. Perhaps the horrible news- only confused, self-contradicting rumours so far- coming out of Paris was false, or exaggerated. Perhaps the Führer was still alive. But if there was news, good or bad, the SS officer gave the guards none of it. He just shook his head, and said only, "I'm sorry, gentlemen," and paused before adding, "My orders are to speak with the Reichsführer alone."

The guards nodded, one of them moving to open the door for the SS major. "Heil Hitler," one of them said. At this, Hellstrom switched the briefcase to his left hand, and his right arm shot up in salute. "Heil Hitler!" he barked, realizing as he spoke those two words that he had likely done so for the last time. Adolf Hitler was gone, and the war went on without him. German forces were fighting for the very survival of the Reich on all fronts- three, with the landings in Normandy now having gained a foothold. The Führer was gone, and soon all of Germany would be officially in mourning. But a new man was needed to take the Führer's place. Führer was a title, the new name of the official German head of state, rather than President or Prime Minister. Germany was in her greatest hour of need; a new Führer had to be found.

Stepping through the door into the waiting area of the Reichsführer's grand, black-oak-paneled office, Hellstrom noticed no one else in the que. He was alone in the room, and that wasn't particularly common. Many, many men waited on the Reichsführer in a day, some as much as an hour for as short an audience as five minutes. But this time, almost the instant Hellstrom stepped through the door and closed it behind him, Heinrich Himmler's calm, carefully-spoken voice called to him. "Come on, Herr Sturmbannführer," the Reichsführer said. "Your superiors in Paris said you had most urgent news."

That was quite an understatement, something Himmler was very good at; he knew as well as the young SS major that the documents in that briefcase would likely alter the course of history. And that the foolish, brash actions of the Allies already had.

Hellstrom marched smartly into the Reichsführer's office, trying to tell himself that the sudden watery feeling in his knees wasn't fear. Like all true followers of the Nazi cause, Hellstrom was awed by the power wielded by the Party's leaders. Truth be told, men like Hellstrom were simply awed by power. Himmler was one of the most feared men in Germany, Europe, and likely even the world. Head of the entire Schutzstaffel, he commanded all its myriad organizations- the Geheime Staatspolizei or Gestapo, the Sicherheitsdienst or SD, the quasi-police forces of the Allegemeine-SS, and the soldiers of the Waffen-SS. Hellstrom stopped before Himmler's desk, looking down at the quiet, bespectacled man in his black uniform. _This may well be the next Führer_, Hellstrom thought with more than a little awe. _What an honour to be the one giving him the news_.

"Heil Hitler!" Hellstrom said, raising his right arm in salute. Briefly, he wondered how much longer those words would be spoken. Odds were, a new name would follow the first word in that salute before long. Whose it would be was where the heart of the matter lay.

Himmler raised his right arm at the elbow, much as Hitler himself had often done when returning salutes. "Sit down, Sturmbannführer," he said, smiling a little at his next understatement. "It would seem we have some matters to discuss."

Hellstrom sat like a schoolboy before a stern, imperious teacher- and why not? Himmler had been one before the Party's call had reached his ears. His humble origins were often whispered by men of the SS; like Hitler himself, Himmler's rise from the common ranks to the highest possible echelons of power was seen as a "rags to riches" success story, as the Americans would have said. Countless men of the SS saw Himmler was a symbol of terrible power, but also of hope- if he could do it, so could they.

Himmler didn't waste a minute on anything, and very much unlike Hitler's fiery, passionate manner, Himmler was a cold and calculating man. He was fully in control of himself at every moment; never would he blink or fail to look straight at the facts of a situation. So it was little surprise to Hellstrom that he didn't alter from that today, on a day in late June of 1944. Himmler got right to business.

"Sturmbannführer, am I correct in believing the contents of your briefcase relate to the shocking news from Paris last night?"

Hellstrom nodded, unsurprised. Himmler was one of the best-informed men in Germany. He would always know about what mattered, and no news was more important than what Hellstrom had come to deliver today. Really, Himmler was just humouring Hellstrom. Odds were he not only knew what had happened, but knew beyond a doubt it was true and that a new Führer was needed. Hellstrom also suspected that Himmler, known to all in Germany as a very ambitious man, had already decided that man would be him.

Hellstrom paused to thank God- or whoever the Party would want him to thank- for the survival of Reinhard Heydrich in the assassination attempt on him in 1942. His adjutant had died instead, riding in the open-topped car beside him. Heydrich, a man with far more courage than sense, had ordered his driver to flee the scene… and then returned that same day with two companies of SS, burning the nearby Czechoslovakian village and killing everyone in it. That brutal act had shown what an utterly ruthless man Reinhard Heydrich was-as if anyone had needed proof. But it had also given the would-be assassins, had they stuck around, another chance to get their mark. Had Heydrich died, rallying the nation behind Himmler might have proved much harder to do. With him…

Himmler went on, "So it's true." His voice was grave. "The Führer is dead."

"Yes, sir," Hellstrom said, his voice choked. It was still impossible, too much to believe. But it had happened.

But Hellstrom summoned the strength to continue, as he knew Hitler would have expected- he wanted men who were built of steel. Steel! No soft gaps of sentiment. Ironic as it was, the Führer would not have wanted a single man, of the SS or a common farmer, to mourn his loss for long. He would have wanted them to hurry up and get on with things; the destiny of Germany could not wait for even one man.

"Many hundreds were killed by the Allied commandos," Hellstrom said. "Between the gunfire and the bombs, we make the count at well over three hundred."

Hellstrom shook his head; he'd had the time of his life shooting that stupid German actress and those shitty fake-SS to hell and gone in that cellar tavern, but he'd never seen a real massacre in his life until he saw what the Basterds did to the Paris cinema where "Pride of the Nation" had made its utterly disastrous debut.

Continuing, Hellstrom opened his briefcase and began handing files and pictures to Himmler as he talked. The Reichsführer listened with patience and interest- statistics, never of much use to Hitler, were fascinating to him. The more you had everything pegged down to the numbers, the more efficiently everything ran.

"Gestapo agents sifted through the scene as soon as Paris fire departments and rescue workers had the fires out. We have confirmed the death of Private Friedrich Zoller, Reichminister Göbbels, dozens of Party members, Hitler Youth and civilians. The Führer's body has also been recovered."

"What of Reichsmarshall Göring?" Himmler asked, pushing his spectacles up on the bridge of his nose as he looked over the body count. Hellstrom had barely made it through reading over that report even once- he was no weakling, and had shot and killed enough enemies of the Reich he could have painted his hands red several dozen times with all of the blood he'd spilled. But this was different! These were _German_ dead!

Pushing aside his anger, Hellstrom answered, "The Reichsmarschall was not at the film premiere. He was test-flying a captured British fighter."

Himmler smiled coldly- he didn't seem to know how to do it any other way. "Ah, yes," he said, nodding a little as if confirming something he already knew. Which, again, was probably the case. "The de Havilland Mosquito. Impressive that our night fighters managed to bring one down intact."

In spite of himself, Hellstrom smiled a little too. The Reichsmarshall would forever be a fighter ace at heart- though now grown older and a little too fat, he would never forget the swashbuckling days of his youth, tearing through the skies of Europe in the rickety biplanes of the last war. Capturing so superbly-built a plane as the Mosquito must have been a truly personal victory for him, considering how much he had envied the British for having it.

"And of course," Hellstrom added, "the majority of the SS hierarchy remains intact. The Kriegsmarine, Luftwaffe, Heer and Waffen-SS likewise suffered few or no losses." Hellstrom paused. "Really, Herr Reichsführer, we have most everyone we need. We can keep the Reich functioning."

Just as Himmler was about to say something, the door to his office opened, and in strode SS-Oberstgruppenführer Reinhard Heydrich, "The Man With the Iron Heart" as Hitler had once called him. Hellstrom instinctively started to spring to his feet, then stopped, feeling very foolish, when he realized whose office he was still sitting in. Himmler didn't even seem to notice; he was looking straight at his most loyal deputy, expectant and interested, even.

"Herr Reichsführer," Heydrich began, his blue eyes shining with excitement, "I have a telegraph from the Reichsmarshall's estate in Bavaria. Shall I read it?" As Heydrich spoke those last words, he cut his eyes at Hellstrom. All three men in the room understood Heydrich's meaning- _Should this Major be here to hear this_?

But Himmler nodded, waving a hand in dismissal of the issue. "Hellstrom is a reliable man. It doesn't matter."

With one curt nod of acknowledgement, Heydrich opened the dispatch and read it. "I have recently heard of the tragedy in Paris and am as grieved at the nation's loss as any man. But the war must go on, and will go on. The Fatherland must be saved. The Führer is dead. Heil Himmler!"

Heydrich, deciding on the spot to let Himmler know where he stood, raised his right arm in salute, the second man to offer his services to Himmler as the nation's new leader. "Heil Himmler!" barked the tall, blonde Aryan SS general.

"Heil Himmer!" Hellstrom barked, jumping to his feet and snapping his right arm up in salute.

Now a different kind of smile crept onto Himmler's face. It was the look of a man who had been waiting for years, perhaps his entire life, to get what he wanted, and in just this moment now realized he had it. Heinrich Himmler, by the actions of a few bull-headed, brash and idiotic American bandits, had just had the fate of Europe placed in his hands. The death of Germany's leader and Minister of Propaganda was unfortunate, but not quite unexpected. After all, Himmler had known those 'Basterds' were operating in the Paris area at the time. It was Himmler, always able to gain the Führer's ear at a key moment, who had convinced him to go ahead with the film premier, even with the D-Day landings going on to the North.

It had been Himmler, so cold and calculating every minute of every day, who had suggested to Göbbels that he attend to make the best of the propaganda opportunity the showing had. And the presence of those HJ boys and their equivalent girls? That had been no mere unfortunate circumstance. It was Himmler's idea. The deaths of those teenagers was a little saddening and a little wasteful, but hardly a complete loss. Their deaths added a special touch to the carnage; the heartlessness of the Allies often equaled or even surpassed that of the Reich. And ironically, while the public of England and America had so easily overlooked the firebombing of Dresden and the merciless poundings of Frankfurt and Berlin, they might very well prove unable to stomach the fiery, violent death of so many boys and girls who had done nothing but simply be there. All the Greater German Reich had to do was just publicize it.

Himmler smiled and returned the salutes, motioning for both men to be seated. There was a lot to do; he had just become the most powerful man in Germany. No, that was insufficient- the most powerful man in Europe.


	2. Chapter 2- The New Führer

**Chapter II- The New Führer**

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**A/N: Within minutes of confirming Hitler's death, Himmler is already giving orders as the new leader of the Third Reich. There is a very real possibility that the Basterds assassinating Hitler would have placed a much more effective leader in charge of the Reich. The short-shortsightedness and complete lack of subtlety in the Basterd's actions is well-outlined here- their inadvertently putting Heinrich Himmler in charge of the Greater German Reich in this AU may have cost the Allies the war. There is a very good reason why the Allies never even tried assassinating Hitler in OTL, and Heinrich Himmler had something to do with it.  
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"I want the Reichsmarshall's statement read on the wireless tonight, Heydrich," Himmler said. The SS general responded with one curt nod, and said "It will be done." Himmler knew it would be.

Turning his gaze to the young SS major, Himmler said, "Herr Sturmbannführer."

The young Nazi looked at his new Führer with eyes blazing with fanaticism; he was the best kind of Nazi, the best kind of SS officer. Dieter Hellstrom truly personified the SS motto, Meine Ehre Heißt Treue- My Honour is Loyalty. Himmler had only to issue a command, and it would be obeyed. "Yes, my Führer?" Hellstrom asked.

"We will surely hear from these… _Basterds_… again." Himmler's lip curled in disgust; he could barely stand even speaking such coarse English words as that one. He hated the English, period- they were a nasty people with a great love for warfare and blood-letting, a truth they escaped guilt for by saying the exact same thing about the Germans. They claimed the moral high ground in all things and had convinced the United States of Germany's supposed evil, when in truth both they and the Americans could have given two shits in a tin can about even one dead Jew.

This crusade these commandos believed themselves to be on had to end. Not for any moral reasons; not for any of that nonsense. It was simply a waste of time and resources.

Himmler went on, "See that some of our special anti-partisan units are transferred from the East, along with one battalion of SS paratroopers. We have new game for them to hunt."

Hellstrom nodded, making a note in his papers. "It will be done, mein Führer."

Himmler smiled a little as he heard those words; he liked it, liked it a lot. But there was more to do. He couldn't celebrate just yet. "Standartenführer Hans Landa is now officially a traitor, and an enemy of the state. He may have escaped to Allied lines for now, but his family still lives here in Berlin. Kill them all- quickly, quietly. Erase all records of their existence, and burn Landa's file."

Dieter Hellstrom grinned wolfishly; he was looking forward to this. Himmler was aware of that, too- he had once heard from the head of the Paris Gestapo that Dieter Hellstrom had once shot a five-year-old boy between the eyes when he tried to interrupt the taking of his Jewish relatives. He loved the Party more than anyone or anything; the old Germany had killed his parents and nearly killed him. From such tragedies, men of truly unwavering loyalty were born. Himmler was in a way grateful for the old, broken Weimar Republic's brief existence. It had given the Nazis every chance they needed to rise to power.

The new Führer looked at the two men across the desk from him, his voice quiet and cold. "Hans Landa never existed. No one ever met him. And no one has ever heard of the Landa family. Understood?"

Both officers before Himmler nodded crisply, already erasing all memory of the once-famed "Jew Hunter" from their minds. Even Heydrich, a man known for his cold, heartless brutality, shivered inside. Himmler had given the order for Sippenhaft to be initiated on the Landa family. It meant "Blood Guilt" in English, and was a special punishment going back to Germany's most ancient days. It was an exceptionally effective way of punishing traitors and all other manner of the worst criminals. You didn't just execute the guilty man- his _entire family_ died with him. The old, the very young, the sick- none were spared. Once given, the order for Sippenhaft could never be rescinded, and it was always carried out. With the Nazi Party's rise to power, Sippenhaft had returned in the form of a few specific files in SS and Nazi Party headquarters, authorizing its use and to a letter detailing the utterly merciless nature of the punishment. Sippenhaft was so feared in Germany men would let themselves be tortured to death rather than allow themselves to speak its name.

Already, both Hellstrom and Heydrich could see the men in dark coats getting into their black cars, the sleek Benzes and Horches streaking out across Germany and stopping at a set of specific addresses. They could see the men in dark coats knocking at doors and taking silenced Luger pistols out of their pockets. And both men could see the personal ID papers being burned, the bodies vanishing and the entire family of Landa just ceasing to exist so completely it was if they had never been. And both Nazi officers were grateful, very grateful that this wasn't happening to them.

Continuing, Himmler said, "This Feldwebel Hugo Stiglitz. His family is to be executed also. The fact that _he_ is already dead is irrelevant. Same as with Landa- kill each of them quickly and quietly, and make sure nothing remains to prove they ever lived. These two men will be turned into examples. Make sure word gets out in the SS about Landa and his family, and in the Army make sure they hear about Stiglitz and his."

Again, the two SS officers before Himmler nodded. It would be done.

"Also- Hitler's Commando Order will be in effect as far as the Basterds are concerned. If caught again-" Himmler could still scarcely believe how stupid Landa had been in letting them live- "they are to be shot."

Finally, Himmler turned his attention to the D-Day landings. "See that the 1st, 3rd, and 12th SS Panzer Divisions assault just as soon as they reinforce their numbers with new armor and troops coming up to the front. Gather all the air support you can during overnight movements, and do all possible to smash the Allied foothold pockets before they can get any farther inland."

Himmler considered. Perhaps merely ordering a counterattack was unrealistic, especially with one already underway. "Should the Allied landings gain any ground, however; should they succeed in advancing into France… make them pay for every foot of ground. If the Allies have to purchase every inch of liberated France with the blood of a hundred soldiers, perhaps they will be more willing to hear reason."

Lastly in addressing the landings in Normandy, Himmler ordered that Field Marshal Erwin Rommel be placed fully in charge of the German defenses. Himmler wrote out a special order that was to be sent to Rommel personally, reading, "So long as the Allied invasion of France remains a threat to the security of the Greater German Reich, Field Marshal Rommel is under my direct and personal orders to direct the defense of occupied France as he sees fit. All personnel, military and civil, without distinction of rank, will assist him in any way that Field Marshal Rommel sees fit to demand… Heinrich Himmler." _There_, Himmler thought with a smirk. _Set Rommel loose on the Allies _this_ time and Churchill will never sleep soundly again_.

Himmler then started to dismiss the two officers, but called them back. He'd just thought of something else- another important matter that would soon need to be taken care of.

"Herr Heydrich…" Himmler said, having already made up his mind about another announcement that would need to go out on the wireless when he, Himmler, made his speech tonight. "How would you like to be the new Reichsführer-SS? It would seem we have need for a new one, since I could hardly continue to occupy the position."

Heydrich stopped moving that instant; he snapped to attention so fast Himmler briefly feared for the integrity of the man's boots. Heydrich stood so stiff he could hardly seem to speak. "Mein Führer, I will try to be worthy of it. I am honored!"

Himmler nodded, satisfied. Heydrich would do well as the next Reichsführer-SS. He was bold, charismatic, brilliant and as ruthless as they came. He was the iconic SS man, just what the organization would need. But there was something else- one more man in the room had just witnessed the most immense transfer of power since Hitler's election as Chancellor of Germany. One more man had just been entrusted with some powerful secrets, and it would be a complete waste to simply shoot such a fine young officer. When faced with these situations, it was either shoot the people you didn't want knowing the details, or promote them. Himmler chose the latter for Dieter Hellstrom.

Looking up at the new Reichsführer-SS, Himmler said, "I think the post Herr Landa once occupied is open, too. Don't you agree, Herr Heydrich?"

Heydrich nodded confidently; it was very true, and he had already guessed Himmler's choice- and seen no problem with it.

Looking to Hellstrom, Himmler said, "Then congratulations, Standartenführer Dieter Hellstrom."

Now it was Hellstrom who snapped to the strictest form of attention; he stared straight ahead, seemingly unable to speak. Finally, he managed to say, "Thank you, mein Führer," in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. Then Himmler did dismiss the two men; the instant they were out of Himmler's office, both officers rushed off to have new ranks sewn onto their collar tabs. They had new orders to carry out, new orders to issue and new offices to occupy.

Once they were both gone, Himmler leaned back in his leather chair and sighed, placing his hands together so his fingers formed the shape of a church steeple. Thinking in silence for a few minutes, Himmler sat as his mind ran through a thousand things that would need to be done, a million possibilities. Finally he leaned forward again, sifting through a set of papers on his desk and signing "Yes" or "No" to each of them. One of those papers was a request to divert one week's worth of fuel supplies from the Army to the SS at the death camps. The Commandant of Auschwitz had written that one; he boasted that if just a few more trucks and trains were given for his use, he could double the number his gas chambers killed each week.

Himmler signed "No" to that one; later that day he would send out a memo to all top brass in the SS, noting that operations at the camps were to continue, but supplies in the form of fuel, food and ammunition were to be reduced by 25%. The Final Solution could afford to wait; the Allies and the filthy Soviet hordes would not allow themselves to be ignored so easily. The war had to be won- until then, the camp commandants could complain all they liked, but they would simply have to make do with less. Of course, if too many of their complaints reached Himmler's ears, those particular commandants would be 'dealt with' and more competent men would take their place. Men who _could_ carry out orders. If Germany won the war, then _all_ of the Jews and undesirables the Reich got its hands on would die. But if Germany lost, only _most_ of them would die. And the camps would be found. Himmler shook his head; this was simple logic. Losing the war was unacceptable.

Sitting in his office on that sunny day in late June, Himmler paused briefly as he went through his papers. His mind returned, for just a moment, to the true brilliance of all his hard work, and what a wonderful thing this massacre in Paris had turned out to be. Himmler had once heard that Mr. Churchill had called off an SAS proposal to assassinate Hitler out of fear that Himmler might take charge, and actually run the German war effort efficiently. Apparently the loud, arrogant, pushy Americans had overruled him. Himmler smiled a little at the thought; what a surprise that the Americans, of all people, would fail to understand the true depth of a situation and totally ignore the consequences. They were the _Americans_, after all. How could _they_ ever be wrong? How could they _ever_ fail?

Himmler also thought briefly about the hilarious irony of this infamous German Army sergeant, that Hugo Stiglitz. Oh, yes, Himmler had heard the stories, what a hero this man was to some for going on that bizarre rampage and killing over a dozen SS officers. But Himmler had also read the reports, seen the casualty lists from the areas where the Basterds operated. Yes, they had killed lots of SS and would no doubt go on to kill plenty more. But what Himmler thought funny was how many dead German enlisted men and regular Army officers were on those casualty reports. Dead privates, dead sergeants- dead HJ boys at the cinema, boys who had never known the ugly side of the Nazi Party in their lives. Nazis, indeed. But it wasn't as if Himmler cared- the Allies could do as they liked in these situations. It just made the German Ministry of Propaganda's efforts easier.

Hugo Stiglitz. This man supposedly hated Nazis and them alone, yet he had chosen to join the side of the war that was killing Germans by the hundreds and by the thousands, not caring who was a Nazi and who wasn't. It was completely illogical and to say the least, counter-productive. But this Stiglitz, whoever he was, also happened to be dead. That part Himmler understood perfectly, considering Dieter Hellstrom had shot him.

Heinrich Himmler, the second Führer of the German Reich, stopped for just one moment to run the title through his mind. After a second or two, that cold, satisfied smile returned to his face. Into the quiet of his office, interrupted only by the steady ticking of the grandfather clock off to the right, Himmler spoke a few words.

"Good." Himmler nodded to himself; he could hardly have been more pleased. "Very good."


End file.
